The Newspaperman
by goldieasj
Summary: Curry and Heyes befriend a young cub reporter whose intentions are to publish a series of articles about the Devil's Hole Gang!


**THE NEWSPAPERMAN**

**by Goldie**

Gun drawn and a serious smirk on his face (if there is such a thing), outlaw Kid Curry sneaked silently up on his quarry. His stealthy gunfighting ways had proven to be effective more than once; his prey was completely unaware of his deadly presence.

When he was only a few feet away, the Kid cocked the hammer of his gun, prompting the response he expected.

The boy yelped and dropped his pencil.

"All right, who are you?" The Kid somehow managed to keep from laughing.

"Ah - ah - ah - ah . . ."

"I asked you a question! This gun guarantees me an answer!"

"I . . . my name . . . my name . . ." The poor boy was so scared he couldn't answer.

Outlaw Hannibal Heyes, the Kid's partner, stepped out of the shadows. "And why were you stalking me?" he asked the boy.

"Ken! Ken Bean!" The boy finally blurted it out.

"Well, Ken," said the Kid, "why were you following my friend?"

"I . . . I . . . I don't want him to shoot me!"

"Him?" The Kid was incredulous. "_I'm_ the one with the gun!"

"Please don't shoot me!" Ken pleaded, looking straight at Heyes.

"My gun is in my holster, Ken," Heyes reminded him calmly, pointing to his holster to prove it. "Now tell me why you've been following me around town the last couple days."

Ken glanced nervously at the Kid and his gun. Although this boy was no threat whatsoever, Kid Curry was having too good a time to lower his gun.

"Talk, Ken," coaxed Heyes.

"I . . . I know who you are!"

Heyes and the Kid exchanged glances but never changed expressions.

"Who do you think I am?" asked Hannibal Heyes.

"You're Kid Curry!" Ken Bean informed him.

This startled both Heyes and the Kid. It was a moment before either was composed enough to speak. Ken Bean, already very nervous, saw that he had hit a nerve and became even more agitated. "Please don't kill me, Mr. Curry!" he pleaded.

Heyes bit back a smile. "First off, I'm not going to kill you. And secondly, I'm not Kid Curry the outlaw."

Ken relaxed just a little bit. "But you are!" he said.

"No!" Heyes made a broad gesture with his hands. "Do you really think that if I was Kid Curry, you'd still be standing here, talking to me? Vicious outlaw like that?" The Kid glared at Heyes, who ignored him. "Why, I'd've drawn on you so fast you'd never know what hit you. That's what people say about him. And there's just no way I can shoot like that."

"That's for sure," said the Kid. Heyes ignored him again. So did Ken Bean.

"No, I'm no outlaw. My name is Smith. I'm just a . . . a rancher. But what makes you think I'm the famous Kid Curry?"

Ken looked warily at the Kid until he lowered and re-holstered his gun; then he finally overcame his fear and began to talk. "Because I'm a newspaperman. Or at least I want to be a newspaperman. And I have to get a good story so the 'Cheyenne Daily' will take me seriously. I thought you would make a good story. So I went to the Devil's Hole and talked to the gang and asked how to find you and they told me they thought you were in this town."

"That's crazy," said the Kid. "Those guys would never tell anyone where we . . ." Oops. Heyes's eyes shot daggers at him.

But Ken Bean brightened right up. "Then I was right! You _are_ Kid Curry!" he said to Heyes.

"No, I'm not!"

"I can vouch for that," said the Kid. "He's not Kid Curry."

Ken Bean was confused. "Then why would the Devil's Hole Gang tell me that?"

He wasn't the only one who was confused. The Kid said, "No one can just march into Devil's Hole without getting himself killed. Everyone knows that."

"They're a bunch of desperadoes," added Heyes for good measure. "Do you expect us to believe that you made contact with them and rode out of there alive? And with information about the whereabouts of Hannibal Heyes and What's-His-Name? That's just crazy!" He shook his head to dismiss the idea.

"Well, I did! I showed them my press card." When he got blank looks from the outlaws, he took out a small card that had his name and the name of his newspaper and the words 'cub reporter' printed on it. "If the 'Cheyenne Daily' likes the stories I deliver, they'll promote me to a real reporter. Right now they're not really paying me anything." He looked down and rubbed the toe of his boot in the sand.

Heyes was appalled, and not merely at the fact that Ken was working for free. "What the hell does that have to do with anything? What idiot at Devil's Hole would give you any information based on a piece of paper?"

Ken thought for a minute. "I think he said his name was Wheat something."

"Oh," said Heyes and the Kid in unison.

Ken perked up. "So will you help me? Will you help me with some stories?"

"I keep telling you, Ken," said Heyes. "I'm not Kid Curry."

Ken turned quickly to the Kid. "Then you must be!"

"Aaaaargh!"

"You guys fit the descriptions Wheat gave me, right down to a T! You've got to be! You've been doing all the things he said you'd do, and going all the same places he said you'd go! I can't be wrong! You even act like gunfighters."

Heyes was amused. "I act like a gunfighter?"

"Absolutely!"

Poor Ken was so agitated and expectant that he softened Heyes's attitude. "All right, Ken, calm down. Just tell us what it is that you're looking for."

"I just want to spend a little time with you, Mr. Curry, get to know you. Have you tell me a few of your stories about bank-robbing and train-robbing. I'll write the stories and then you can dump me somewhere and I promise I won't send any of the stories in until you're safely gone away. No one will be able to trace you through me. I promise!" He held out his hand as if that cinched the deal.

Heyes sighed and looked at the Kid. The look on the Kid's face said he was amused. A little concerned, perhaps, but mostly amused. Clearly he was leaving the decision to Heyes.

Heyes liked the idea of immortality through newspaper stories, but he was very concerned about admitting his identity to this stranger. He thought for a second, well aware that two pairs of eyes were on him, before answering, "All right, Ken," he said. "This is what we'll do for you. Sit down."

Ken was watching him so expectantly that he missed the command.

"Sit down, I said," repeated Heyes. The Kid pushed Ken gently but firmly down on a nearby bench. In the process, Ken stumbled and his foot twisted unnaturally. It was then that Heyes and the Kid realized that Ken's foot was not a real human foot, that it was made of wood. When they had seen him following them over the last couple of days, they had noticed him limping but hadn't thought much of it.

"What happened to your foot?" asked the Kid as gently as possible.

"That?" Ken was surprised they were asking. It wasn't something he thought about much. "Oh, that's nothing. After the War Between the States, there were a lot of skirmishes in my county when I was a baby, a lot of gunfire. I'm told that a group of vigilantes came to attack our town one day when I was just over a year old, and my father grabbed me. But they were shooting and they shot off my foot. I don't remember it at all."

Heyes and the Kid looked at each other. They also had first-hand knowledge of the fighting and hostilities that carried on for years between warring factions after the Great War. The county in which they had grown up had also been affected. They had suffered losses as well. Their attitude toward Ken, already softening, melted completely.

"What happened to your dad?" the Kid asked kindly.

"He died that day," said Ken. "I don't remember that either." Ken had obviously long since come to peace with these issues. He had a big smile on his face. "So I have to make something of myself. And now Kid Curry is going to help me become a newspaperman!"

"First of all, I'm not Kid Curry," said Heyes, noting Ken's dejection at this latest declaration. "But cheer up! I know him well! I've met him because we've ridden with the Devil's Hole Gang. Now, never mind, you don't need to know our real names. You can call me Mr. Smith and you can call my friend Mr. Jones."

"Oh! Oh! Pleased to meet you!" Ken held out his hand to both of them to shake. He was very excited. He was finally getting somewhere after having followed them for days. "You can tell me so much." He bent down and picked up his pencil and prepared to take notes.

"Hold on there! Not so fast!" said Kid Curry.

"That's right," Heyes agreed. "First of all, we have to come to an understanding."

"Understanding?" Ken's bright tone implied that he was up for anything.

"Mr. Jones and I can share a few things with you." Heyes was being very coy here. "But the conditions have to be right."

"Anything!" Ken and even the Kid were looking expectantly at Heyes.

"Mr. Jones and I were just thinking about going to a restaurant for lunch. It might be a nice gesture if you were to invite us along for your lunch. A nicer gesture if you paid. An even nicer gesture if it is a good juicy steak. The juicier the steak, the juicier the story."

"Done!" Ken jumped up and started walking toward the hotel. "Let's go get the juiciest steaks in town!" Heyes and the Kid followed, smiling broadly at each other.

Half an hour later, after the three of them had devoured the required fare and pushed their plates aside, Ken Bean took out his pencil and paper and prepared to take notes. Heyes and the Kid were contented and relaxed. And feeling kindly toward this young kid who had just paid for their meal and who, although half their ages, had had some similar devastating experiences as a youngster.

"How old are you, anyway?" asked Kid Curry.

"Sixteen," said Ken. "Now tell me . . ."

"Whoa! Hold on! Not so fast," said Heyes. "I want you to understand the situation first."

"The situation?"

"The situation in which we found ourselves in contact with the Devil's Hole Gang." Heyes shifted in his chair to make himself more comfortable and to stall for thinking time. He was aware that the Kid was watching him, just as fascinated as Ken. In a moment, he continued. "See, Ken, we're not outlaws. We joined up with the Devil's Hole Gang because they had a reputation and we were looking for some exploits of our own. We were both very young at the time. When we realized that all they wanted to do was rob people, well, we got out, of course!"

"How old were you?" Ken had already begun taking notes.

"We weren't much older than you are right now," said Kid Curry.

Ken looked up. "That must have been a _very_ long time ago."

"We're not that old, Ken," said Heyes, in approximately two syllables.

The Kid cleared his throat. "They took us under their wing and shared a lot of information with us. We have some good stories we can share with you. But don't ask us how to rob a bank or anything, because of course we don't know about that."

"That's all right." Ken had started taking notes again. "Tell me some stories. I'm just interested in the _human interest_ point of view. This is the stuff that sells copy. Copy – that's newspapers."

"All right, what should we start with?" wondered Heyes.

"Why don't you start with how fast Kid Curry's draw is?" suggested Ken Bean.

"Yeah!" exclaimed the Kid. "Let's start with how fast Kid Curry's draw is!"

Recognizing an opportunity for some fun, Heyes shook his head sadly. "I don't think so. He's not that fast. Those stories are all exaggerated. After all, you want to print the truth here, don't you?"

"But you said . . ." said Ken.

"Not so fast, Smith," said the Kid, piqued. "I've seen Kid Curry shook the head off a rattlesnake at seventy yards." When he realized he had the full attention of the young reporter, he kept going. " I've seen Kid Curry back down half a dozen desperados just with a look in his eyes. And I've seen him shoot the gun out of the hand of a man who had already drawn on him. Cleared his holster, took aim, and fired before the man could even think what was happening. That's the ticket, you know, he's not only fast, he's accurate. That took years of practice."

"Wow!" said Ken, scribbling furiously.

"Yeah, well, maybe," said Heyes, "but I've also seen Kid Curry stumble out of bed in the morning and cut himself by grabbing the wrong end of the razor. You make it sound like he's all grace and confidence, but he's a lot more human than that! Write that down!" That last bit was aimed at Ken.

The Kid looked at Heyes furiously. "Kid Curry is the fastest gun around and you know it!"

"Exaggeration! All exaggeration! I don't know how these stories get started. It's a good thing a reporter like Ken is here to set the record straight!"

"Kid Curry spent years practicing so he would not be out-drawn. He could beat Wyatt Earp or Billy the Kid or Doc Holliday or anyone else! With one hand tied behind his back!"

"Wow!" said Ken again, continuing to write furiously.

"Kid Curry couldn't shoot his way out of a gunny-sack."

The Kid attempted to control himself with a deep breath, but it only worked to incense him more. "Kid Curry," he said slowly, "could hit 10 out of 10 targets. 100 out of 100!"

"Prove it," said Heyes.

"All right, I will. Right now." The Kid jumped up.

Ken Bean looked up, confused. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Realizing his mistake, the Kid sat down, sheepishly. Heyes, a broad smile on his face, covered well for him. "Obviously, Ken, Kid Curry is a subject we disagree on. It would be better for us to talk about Hannibal Heyes. You know the famous outlaw Hannibal Heyes, right?"

Ken put his pencil to his lip. "The Kid's partner, you mean?"

The Kid gave Heyes a smirk but Heyes ignored him. "Of course, Ken! He's probably the smartest outlaw to ever come along. He's planned some of the most successful robberies ever, west of the Mississippi."

"Wow!" said Ken yet again. Writing furiously yet again.

At this point the waitress came and asked if there was anything else she could get them. They had already eaten and Ken had paid their bill but they were not leaving. It was getting late and most of the other patrons had left the restaurant. The waitress said they would be closing shortly to prepare for the evening meal.

Heyes was piqued at being interrupted but the Kid was delighted. "Looks like we'll have to stop for now," he said merrily.

"Where do you s'pose they are right now?" asked Ken Bean breathlessly in anticipation.

"Who?" asked Kid Curry, raising two fingers to the bartender to indicate two beers, and then hastily adding, "and one sarsaparilla."

"Why, Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes, of course! They're usually together, according to Wheat." But Ken did not wait for the answer, which was not forthcoming anyway, because on the other side of the room Heyes motioned for them to join him at a secluded table he had found in the back of the saloon. The man and the boy grabbed their drinks and joined him.

"Where do you s'pose they are right now?" Ken repeated his question at the table.

"Who?" asked Heyes, accepting the beer and thanking Ken for supplying it.

Ken was clearly miffed. "What's the matter with you two? I'm talking about the greatest outlaws who ever lived! Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes!"

The Kid thought for a minute. "Oh, Heyes is probably planning some robbery that won't work . . ."

"And Kid Curry is probably recovering from some wound he got while cleaning his gun," said Heyes.

Ken Bean had been prepared to take notes, but now he looked up. "Didn't the two of you like them? Or maybe they didn't like you? Is that it? Is that the real reason you quit the gang? Maybe your lives were in danger because they didn't like you. I don't mind telling you – I wouldn't want Kid Curry mad at _me_."

"Like I said before, Ken," said Heyes. "Kid Curry's gunfighting skills are overrated. He never . . ."

The Kid interrupted him. "He never lets anyone make fun of him without killing them. We were about to talk about Hannibal Heyes when we left the restaurant, weren't we? Let's keep to the subject."

"Yes! Let's talk about Hannibal Heyes. Tell me everything you know about him." Pencil at the ready.

The Kid opened his mouth to talk, but Heyes beat him to it. "He's an astonishingly good-looking fellow, just under 30, smart, very smart beyond his years. He has a fine strong body and a very quick mind. Sometimes he can see right through people and tell what they're thinking." This last remark was directed at the Kid, who smirked. "Heyes is the one who planned the famous Denver Bank and Bank of Fort Worth robberies. He was also behind all the biggest train robberies you've read about. Heyes was also the mastermind behind a lot of the smaller robberies that the Devil's Hole Gang pulled, although most people don't know that. And he devised a way to blow P&amp;H's latest safe without destroying the money. No one else has done that! Yep, I guess he's the smartest person I ever met!" Heyes puffed up mightily and refused to look at the Kid, who was covering his mouth with his hand to keep from . . . well, either laughing, or throwing up.

"P &amp; H?" asked Ken.

"Pierce and Hamilton," answered Heyes. "That's _inside _talk."

_Inside _talk seemed to excite Ken even more, if that was possible. "This is great! Tell me about some of the robberies."

When Heyes and the Kid just looked at each other and didn't answer, Ken said, "Oh, that's right. You didn't participate. But surely you heard some stories from the gang members! What would be a good story for my readers?" He put his pencil to his lips and thought hard for a second. "I just had an idea – tell me the _funny_ stories. Most of the rest are just a matter of record. Tell me the funny ones. If we can make my readers laugh, they'll like the gang more."

"I think we can make them _love_ this gang," said the Kid.

"Good!" said Ken, pencil once again at the ready. "What's the funniest story?"

Heyes and Curry looked at each other, well aware that they had a plethora of material from which to draw. In a moment, they seemed to be of one mind; they both said in unison, "The Sleigh Robbery."

Pencil in position and scribbling furiously. "Tell me!"

They both started to talk at once. Then the Kid acceded to Heyes with a gracious wave of his hand. "It happened in the winter of '81," said Heyes. "We were all up at Devil's Hole, starving because it was a bleak winter with a lot of snow. We were almost snowed in and running out of food. A robbery was necessary. _ Heyes said."_ He added the last part as an afterthought. "Mr. Jones and I stayed behind, of course. But we heard the story later. Heyes had a brilliant plan . . . brilliant, if I do say so myself . . ."

"Get to the point!" said the Kid.

" . . . to rob the bank in Downer's Creek just before closing on a Friday, tie up the manager and lock the door, and then take the loot to the general store down the street and quietly buy all the food we – they – needed. Just four of the gang went in to town . . ."

"Which four?" asked Ken anxiously.

"Wheat and Kyle Murtrie and . . . uh . . . two other guys. It's not important. Anyhow, halfway into town, it started to snow. Heavy, too. Under those circumstances, escape would be more difficult. They talked about it and Heyes came up with another brilliant idea – to steal a sleigh first. From the livery stable."

"Anyhow, it seemed brilliant at the time," added the Kid. Ken started wondering about the names he was hearing, but pushed it to the back of his mind.

"So the first thing we – they – did when they got into town was hit the livery. They didn't have any money yet, so they had to steal the sleigh and tie up the stableman. They hitched up a couple horses and drove the sleigh to the bank. The sleigh worked real well on the snow." Heyes looked at the Kid, who nodded agreement. "The four of them went into the bank, guns drawn, and ran smack into the Sheriff, who was helping the manager close up. That wasn't his usual job, but he was bored that day, I guess. Well, that put them in a spot. They didn't know what to do. You can't just shoot a Sheriff!"

"Why not?" asked Ken innocently.

Heyes and the Kid both reacted to this. "Everyone knows you have to avoid a lawman whenever you can," said the Kid with emphasis.

"That's right," said Heyes, "but they – we – they – couldn't turn back. So they tied up both the manager and the Sheriff. Kyle tied them up. Then they took all the money out of the safe and stuffed it inside a couple of bags. The manager wouldn't tell them where the key to the front door was, so they just shut the door behind them and drove the sleigh down the street to the general store. Sleigh worked great in the snow, by the way. Kyle was driving the sleigh so he stayed with it and the other three went inside and started ordering supplies. They almost were at the point of paying for the supplies when all of a sudden there was a lot of shouting outside and the men heard Kyle yelling at them to hurry outside. What happened was that a customer had gone inside the bank, found the Sheriff and the manager tied up, and _untied _them, if you can believe that! The Sheriff ran outside, waving his gun, and the gang members had to run for the sleigh and hightail it out of there!"

"Did they get away?"

"Of _course_ they did! This is the Devil's Hole Gang I'm talking about, Ken! They're _professionals!"_

"What happened to the supplies?"

"Well, they were forced to leave quickly without the supplies. I think they . . . uh . . ."

The Kid finished the thought for Heyes. "They had to shoot a deer on the way home to bring any food back."

"What about the money?" asked Ken.

"Well . . . " Heyes said sheepishly. "It fell off the sleigh."

Ken looked up, aghast. "_All _of it?"

"I'm afraid so," said Heyes. "There were only two bags and they . . . slid off."

"But there was a bright side to the story!" the Kid said brightly. "The gang got a sleigh out of the deal!"

"A sleigh," said Ken dully.

"So we always refer to it as the Sleigh Robbery," said the Kid.

"Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't such a brilliant idea after all." Heyes and the Kid looked at each other and started laughing. Ken was touched by the obvious friendship, the likes of which he had seldom seen between two men. He understood now that the petty bantering was all part of the package. It was a charming, disarming package and he had to force himself to focus on his next question. Suspicions that had been nagging him were temporarily forgotten.

"But there were lots of robberies that didn't go bad, right?" queried Ken.

"Oh, sure," said Heyes wistfully. "But this was the funniest. Besides, we used the sleigh all winter," he dead-panned.

"Now, I'm not so sure, Joshua," said the Kid quite seriously. "Maybe throwing a safe off the mountain was the funniest."

"Uh," said Ken. Pencil twirled in the air.

"Close second, Thaddeus. Close second. And don't forget the time Big Joe got stuck climbing through the bank window and we – the gang, that is – had to find some oil to grease him up!"

"Speaking of Big Joe," said the Kid, laughing, "remember the time Heyes took him along on a robbery and they put some dynamite in a pipe and lit it and then Big Joe got his foot stuck in it? Big Joe's big toe!" Heyes and the Kid both laughed.

Ken was aghast. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing," said Heyes. "His toe stopped up the air supply and the fuse died out."

"That was a shame, too," continued the Kid, "because that was the only dynamite they had brought with them and when they tried to re-light it, it turned out to be a dud." They shook their heads sadly. Then Heyes said, "That was the Big Toe Robbery." Then they all laughed, Ken rather nervously.

"Uh, did anyone ever get hurt? Or killed?" Ken ventured cautiously.

"Oh, sure," said Heyes flippantly. "The Preacher."

"A preacher!"

"No," Heyes corrected him. "_The _Preacher. He was a member of the gang. He used to get killed all the time. The first time was in Sunset City. Or was it Dodgeville?"

"It was Carsontown," said the Kid helpfully.

"That's right, it was Carsontown. Thanks, Thaddeus. The Preacher took a couple of bullets from a posse on that one. In Sunset City, it was the Sheriff who killed him. And in Dodgeville, he got blown up."

"Blown up?" asked Ken weakly. The pencil was lying limply at his side.

"Well, not really," explained the Kid. "The Preacher felt the robberies were too dangerous and he wanted a bigger share of the money than anyone else, to compensate. So he always pretended he had almost died. Nothing ever really happened to him, though."

"Including the money," said Heyes. "He always ended up with the same share as everyone else!" They all laughed again.

They were having a good time. The Kid ordered two more beers. Ken hadn't even touched his sarsaparilla yet. He wasn't sure what to make of these two. He liked them immensely, in spite of the fact that they had scared the daylights out of him when they first met. They were both warm and friendly and funny. It was the best afternoon he'd spent in a long time. But they seemed to have an awful lot of information that two on-the-fringe robbers shouldn't have. He wondered, not for the first time, just how involved they had actually been. Also he wondered who they really were. Those names – Smith and Jones. Hmmm.

When the beers came, Ken had to reach deep inside his vest pocket to pay for them. "I'm afraid that's the last of my money," he said apologetically. Heyes and Curry exchanged a look. There was a moment of silence.

Ken was writing and was startled by Heyes's serious and caring voice. "Do you really figure this will help your career, Ken?"

"Uh . . . yes. Yes, I do. The public loves this kind of thing. They can't get enough."

"And they most likely don't get enough because few people would have as much gumption as you," said the Kid. "It must have taken a lot of courage to approach someone you thought was Kid Curry." Heyes smiled approvingly, also.

"Oh, well, it's . . ." Ken was embarrassed. "It's my future, you know. I have to take care of myself. But you guys didn't turn out to be outlaws anyhow! You're perfectly safe; I've got nothing to worry about! And you've got some great stories! Do you have any more?"

"More? Ha!" said Heyes. "How about the time the gang stalled the train and it was on a bridge?!" He looked at the Kid and they both laughed heartily. "Try robbing a train on a bridge!" snorted the Kid.

"Or remember Gladys? From the Long Branch?" Heyes and the Kid were by now both laughing so hard it was becoming difficult for them to talk.

Ken started laughing, too. "Gladys?"

"She had on a red dress. The gang had to take her prisoner when they robbed the Long Branch because she said she'd identify them. Cole rode her on his horse and she kept kicking him and yelling the whole time they rode away. And there was a posse right behind. Can you imagine trying to hide from a posse when you're with a wailing woman in a red dress?!"

The Kid was laughing so hard at his memories that he almost choked on his beer. "And Heyes – Smith, do you remember the bear?"

"Oh, the bear!" Now it was Heyes's turn to laugh until he choked.

"A bear?" Ken was laughing just as hard as they were, harder, in fact. He was having trouble taking notes; he had to keep wiping his eyes.

"The bear . . . the bear . . ." Heyes kept hitting the Kid on the shoulder. "The bear that adopted us after we robbed the Burlstone Bank! We hid from the posse in a cave in the hills and the bear came home before we had a chance to leave! It must've thought we were its cubs. Nobody had the heart to shoot it. We were stuck there for two whole days!"

Ken laughed loudly and then stopped suddenly. There it was – 'us,' 'we.' Smith had said 'us' and 'we.'

"You were there then?" Ken asked.

Heyes stopped laughing instantly, too. The Kid was now the only one laughing. Heartily.

"No, of course not," said Heyes. "I misspoke." He responded to Ken's question but he was not looking at Ken when he spoke. He was looking past Ken at a man who was approaching their table. The man appeared to be a miner, a prospector new in town, perhaps. He was dirty and looked like he needed a drink. And a bath. He also looked angry.

The Kid also saw the miner approaching and began to calm down. Ken was unaware of the stranger but Heyes and Curry watched until he stopped at their table, right behind Ken.

"Something we can do for you, stranger?" asked Heyes.

The miner's unexpected voice startled Ken. "You can shut the hell up, that's what you can do. I'm trying to play serious poker over there and you're making a nuisance of yourselves. I'm losing, thanks to you! Now keep the noise down! Especially you, Junior!" He swore at them and cuffed Ken in the head before turning on his heel and walking back to his table.

Ken turned to look at him, only to be rewarded with a scowl. "Who was _that?"_

"No one," said the Kid, still chuckling a little. "Just someone who doesn't enjoy life. Where were we?"

Heyes started chuckling again. "I was about to tell Ken about Carol. Remember Carol? She was the one you were with at the Conner Hotel on the second floor when . . ."

The Kid obviously fondly recalled the story, but with a nod of his head toward Ken he said, "I don't think that's a good story for Ken's newspaper, Joshua."

"Mmmm. It's a great story, though!"

"Yeah!" And they both started laughing again. Ken turned red but he laughed, too.

There was a short moment while they tried to think of more stories, stories that they could share with Ken, anyhow. Soon Heyes thought of one. "Did you know Heyes and Curry broke out of jail a couple of times, Ken?"

Ken thought. "Yeah, I think I heard that. What happened?" He was getting so much more than he had expected and having the time of his life.

"Well," said Heyes, "the first time was in a little town not too far from Cheyenne. The sheriff was a peach but the deputy was dumb as a box of rocks."

The memory of this episode caused the Kid to suddenly hoot loudly. This caused Ken to laugh expectantly and that caused Heyes to smile broadly. "Heyes and Curry had just been thrown in jail and the sheriff retired home for the night. Before he left, he gave the cell key to the deputy and told him to keep an eye on it, so he put it in his back pocket. But, like I said, Heyes was quite a genius. He had a small magnet that he had sewn into his vest so it couldn't be seen. Heyes called the deputy over to the cell, and while the Kid distracted him, Heyes used the magnet to slowly pull the key out of the deputy's back pocket. He had to work slowly or the deputy would have noticed. The poor Kid had to keep talking to distract the deputy. What was it he talked about, Thaddeus – poetry?"

"No, nursery rhymes!" replied the Kid, laughing loudly again.

"That's right! Nursery rhymes!" Now Heyes was laughing so hard he could hardly talk. "You should have heard the Kid trying to remember nursery rhymes from his childhood! But this deputy could remember them all!" Heyes slapped his leg. "Mother Goose, and Wee Willie Winkie, and . . ." He was laughing too hard to go on.

In a moment, the Kid calmed down enough to finish the story. "But Heyes got the key _and_ his gun, and you should have seen the look on the deputy's face! You can bet he was wishing the outhouse was closer!"

Ken was laughing so hard he was pounding the table.

"That deputy was so engrossed in the conversation, Heyes could have taken his underwear and he wouldn't have noticed!" howled Heyes. In-between gasps, Heyes could see the disgruntled miner at his table staring at them. Heyes smiled and waved at him. Immediately afterward, he regretted his action as he realized that most of the other miners at the table had turned to look at them, too. But they went back to their poker game and nothing came of it. Heyes relaxed again.

Still chuckling, the Kid said, "Maybe Heyes is a genius, but Kid Curry is a genius with a gun!"

"I'll say!" Ken seconded that.

"He's shown some pretty fancy shooting over the years, but the best one – the _funniest_ one – happened in Opal City last year . . ."

Heyes started laughing again as he remembered the event. And, of course, Ken started laughing, too.

"Let me tell it, Thaddeus. It's one of my favorite stories! A stranger recognized the Kid and called him out. They took it outside to the street. The stranger drew before he was supposed to but Kid Curry was too fast and drew at the same time. The Kid has such good aim that he hit the gun in the man's hand, which deflected his bullet into the air, where it hit a rope holding up a cloth sign hung over the street welcoming people to Opal City. The sign fell right on top of the cowboy!"

All three of them were in stitches again. The Kid continued, "And if that wasn't enough, a mongrel dog got caught under the sign, too, and bit the guy!" Paroxysms of laughter, Ken, as always, the loudest.

When they had caught their breath, the Kid said, "And remember that big dog that . . .?"

"I'm there, partner," chuckled Heyes. "You don't have to remind me!" They laughed hard together.

"But you have to remind _me!"_ reminded Ken.

"Oh, that's right," said the Kid, gallantly deferring to Heyes.

"Well," said Heyes between guffaws, "we knew of a gold shipment by train that was going to be stored overnight in Cheyenne on a lonely part of the track. Very secret. No one was supposed to know. But we did, of course, because we were _professional_. There were no guards because they would have attracted attention. But there was a big, hell, a _huge_ dog . . . What kind did we say it was?"

"A mastiff, I think."

"That's right. It was huge, a man-eater, fangs like Bowie knives. But we knew about it ahead of time. Because we were _professional._ So we got the idea to bring along some beef jerky. To keep the dog quiet. But when we got to the site and saw the dog, no one could find the jerky. Someone had eaten it on the way and no one would 'fess up! No jerky!"

They were all laughing again. "What happened?" howled Ken.

"It wasn't pretty!" cried Heyes.

"That's like . . . that's like . . ." Ken couldn't find an apt comparison.

"I'll tell you what it's like," said the Kid. "It would be like Kid Curry getting caught without bullets!" More laughter. Especially Ken. You'd think he was drunk.

"There we were," bellowed Heyes. "All lined up for him. Damn dog thought he'd died and gone to heaven!"

"Oh! And the bull! Remember the bull?" yelled the Kid, hitting Heyes on the shoulder for emphasis. The very memory of the bull was enough to cause Heyes to slide halfway down his chair helpless with laughter. Ken had absolutely no idea what had happened with the bull but he also was holding his sides from laughing so hard.

"I can still see Big Joe climbing up that tree!" Heyes's voice was about an octave higher than usual. He and the Kid were laughing so hard they were holding on to each other for support. "The tree never had a chance," falsettoed the Kid.

Ken never stopped laughing but he recognized again that he had been listening to 'we' a lot. He was certain now that these guys, whoever they were, had actually participated in the robberies they were discussing. But he didn't care. They didn't seem dangerous to him and he was having a fine time. He knew the Devil's Hole Gang had a positive reputation among the general populace and now he was beginning to understand why. It would be an honor to present these stories to his readers. Throughout these thoughts, Ken had never stopped laughing. Until . . . he suddenly felt himself being pulled out of his chair by the back of his collar. He stopped laughing suddenly.

So did Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry.

No one had noticed that the disgruntled miner had stomped back to their table.

"Get out!" the miner yelled at Ken. "All of you! Now!" Ken froze, fearful and unsure what was expected of him.

"Take it easy, friend," said the Kid soothingly. "We're just having a good time here."

The miner bristled. "That's where you're wrong – I'm not your friend."

Heyes gave him a cunning coquettish look that he did so well. "Why don't you join us and become one?" he asked with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

The miner, who still had hold of Ken's shirt collar, threw him aside, causing Ken to stumble before righting himself. Ken froze.

"Hey, take it easy. The kid's got a bum leg!" This came from Hannibal Heyes, but it could just as easily have come from Kid Curry, who was suddenly very sober and dangerous-looking. "Apologize," the Kid said simply.

"Get out!" the miner yelled again. "I've had it with all of you. You were told nice. Now get out!" He was a fairly large man and as he addressed the three of them, he swung his body around. His coat fell open and a large pistol was clearly seen at his hip. All pretenses aside, the miner hooked his coat behind the gun so it would not be in the way.

"Ooooooh," moaned Ken.

"Does this mean you don't want to be our friend?" Heyes dead-panned.

"You!" The miner pointed at Heyes as he yelled.

"No," said the Kid softly. "Me."

Slowly and deliberately the miner turned to look at the Kid. "You," he agreed. Everyone knew now what to expect. Heyes shot quick glances at Ken, who was immobilized with fear, and the table the miner had left. All the poker players had turned to watch the action but none apparently wanted to get involved. Quickly Heyes used his instincts to measure the danger to the Kid, and then to bystanders such as Ken and himself. Ken was out of danger. Heyes moved his own chair a bit to the side.

There was suddenly dead silence in the saloon as everyone watched. The Kid and the miner stood woodenly, staring in each other's eyes. After a moment, the Kid said softly, "You can apologize and so will we and we'll call it even."

Rather than calming down his enemy, this seemed to incense him. The miner made a sudden move for his gun. But he was a miner, after all, not a gunfighter. And certainly not the great Kid Curry! Before his hand was even within inches of his holster, the Kid had shot and cleanly cut through the leather gunbelt. Said gunbelt then slipped down the miner's leg and landed peacefully on the floor.

Heyes smiled. Ken gasped.

Kid Curry held his stance. "All right now," he said calmly. "You can leave us in peace."

The disgruntled miner had turned into a flabbergasted miner. Jaw still agape, he retrieved his damaged gunbelt and clomped back to his poker table, where he picked up his money and then left. The other poker players and the rest of the people in the saloon started talking excitedly.

"Nice shooting," said Heyes, just loud enough for the Kid to hear.

The Kid responded merely with a twinkle in his eye and sat down. They both looked at Ken, who was still standing and staring at the Kid with his mouth wide open. Heyes and the Kid gave each other an 'uh-oh' look.

"I . . . I . . . I . . ."

"Ken, Ken Bean," quipped Heyes.

"Sit down, Ken," said the Kid quietly, grabbing Ken's sleeve and gently pulling him back to his chair.

"I've never _seen _shooting like that!" exclaimed Ken. "Never! I barely saw it _now!_ You're so fast! Where'd you learn to shoot like that?!"

"Oh, picked it up here and there," shrugged the Kid.

"Ken . . ." warned Heyes. He had seen the look on Ken's face and knew what was coming.

But Ken Bean was stupefied. He was just as much in shock as he had been when he had first encountered the outlaws. Only now it was the Kid he admired.

"Who _are _you?" he whispered fiercely to the Kid.

Heyes interrupted. "It doesn't matter, does it, Ken? You've seen what my friend is capable of. You've seen the type of people this kind of skill attracts. You should know better than to ask questions like that. You already knew he rode with the Devil's Hole Gang. That's enough."

"_You're Kid Curry, aren't you?! _All along I've been thinking that I've been talking with some unknown outlaw _but you're Kid Curry!"_

The tiniest bit of a smile graced the Kid's lips and Ken knew he was right! Heyes saw it, too, and rolled his eyes skyward.

"Please keep your voice down, Ken," the Kid simply said.

"The great Kid Curry!" Ken whispered loudly. All of a sudden, a different sort of thought occurred to him. "You're not going to shoot me, are you?"

"For Heaven's sake, Ken," said Heyes, bringing Ken back down to earth. "What do you think? Get hold of yourself!"

"Joshua," said the Kid, directing his request to Heyes. "I think it's time to leave."

Without answering, Heyes swallowed the last of his beer and stood up. So did the Kid. They moved together like a well-oiled machine.

"Nice meeting you," said the Kid, shaking Ken's hand. Heyes did likewise. "Good luck with your newspaper job."

Then they left.

So Ken left, too.

He followed them out to their horses and attempted to re-commence the conversation. "Is it really you, Mr. Curry?"

"Remember now, Ken, what you promised," warned Heyes. "You don't send in any stories until we're 'safely gone away,' like you said. Give us two days."

Ken Bean suddenly looked at Heyes in great wonder. "Then you must be Hannibal Heyes!"

"Remember your promise, Ken!"

"Ken . . ." The Kid put his hand on his gun and made sure Ken saw him.

"No!" yelled Ken, predictably flustered, "I won't! I mean, I will! Two days! All right! I promise! I do!" He raised his hand as if swearing.

As they were mounting, Ken heard the Kid say something low to Heyes, but he couldn't make out what it was. But he believed he distinctly heard Heyes's response: "I hope it's enough, Kid."

Heyes and the Kid gave Ken one more look and then slapped the reins on their horses at the same time and rode out of town.

Ken Bean watched until he couldn't see them anymore, missing them already. He then retrieved his pencil and paper from the saloon and brought them outside to read his notes in the rocking chair on the porch. They were sketchy notes, he realized, and he began to fill in the blank spots where things had happened to keep him from writing. Things like stories about outlaw gangs being held captive by bears and sleigh robberies and things like gunfights within inches of himself.

He reached in his vest pocket and felt something strange. He felt around and emptied his pocket of money – over one hundred dollars in bills! Money that hadn't been there before he met up with the outlaws.

Ken thought for a moment and then began to write his first story. He wanted a good title for his series and tried to think back through the last hours for a catchy phrase. Finally, he had it.

"_The Professionals," _wrote Ken Bean.

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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